


The Champion's Letters

by BrennaCeDria



Series: The Hero, The Champion, The Revolutionary [24]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alphabet Meme, F/F, F/M, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrennaCeDria/pseuds/BrennaCeDria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly post-DA2 reflections via character alphabet for my head canon Ria Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Will probably be a bit more somber of a tone for her than she exists in game because of this--she's usually a full-on purple/sarcastic Hawke. Exists within the continuity of A Warden's Duty, "The Hero, The Champion, The Revolutionary"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Apostates

Renegade. Defector. Deserter.

_Apostate._

The Chantry teaches that all mages not under the watchful eye of the Circle of Magi are dangerous, to themselves just as much as to those surrounding them. All obedient children of the Maker notify the Chantry’s Templars of apostates in their presence without delay, that all may be protected from the dormant dangers of free mages.

I have never been an obedient child of the Maker.

I believe in His power, but not in His Chantry. I believe in the power of His faithful, of course; the blades of the Templars have always been a threat to at least one person I love. Initially the threat was only to my father, but one’s father is always invincible, and so I never took the threat seriously when I was a very young child.

Then Bethany’s power manifested, and we all felt the fear of losing our Sunshine, the light of our lives. That was when I decided I’d learn to fight. I couldn’t handle a sword the way Carver eventually would, but daggers I could certainly learn. Father taught Beth to control her power, to hide it. He also taught her when to run and when to hide in plain sight. I learned from those last lessons as well, and between my daggers, Carver’s sword, and Bethany’s instincts, our family was safe—even after the sickness took Father’s wisdom from us.

Perhaps it was foolish of us to stay in Lothering so long, both before and after Father’s death. But there were fewer obedient children of the Maker in that village than one might expect, and Mother and I agreed it was best to stay as long as it was safe. That sleepy little village was the only real home any of us but mother had really known—the twins were only eight when we moved there—and we didn’t want to rip them away from that. Considering half the village knew what Father and Bethany were, and yet we never saw a Templar on our stoop, it was far from the worst decision I was party to.

Years later came the Blight, and Ostagar. Carver and I fought violently over who should go with the King’s army and who got to stay to watch over Beth, but eventually we were both conscripted so it didn’t matter. We were both conscripted, and we both survived to escape the slaughter. Orders trickled down from Captain Varel that we were to find our families, to let them know we were alive, then to find him to make things right. Carver and I cared only about getting back to Lothering, to Bethany and Mother, and get them away from the darkspawn. You don’t have to be an apostate to be a deserter.

Some things are more important than duty to a dead king.

Losing Carver as we ran from the horde damn near destroyed Mother, but he died protecting Beth—the only thing he and I ever agreed on. He died well, even if Mother couldn’t understand that.

We resumed our running, with the help of the Witch (so much more than a mere apostate!) and another deserter, though Aveline’s desertion was more of an accident than my own. The four of us—Bethany, Mother, Aveline, and myself—we reached Kirkwall, City of Chains. We worked a year for the elf to pay off the debt we incurred making a safe home in the city, keeping the Templars away from Beth. But once the year was gone, so was the elf’s protection, so we had to find another way to gain the notoriety to remain hidden in plain sight.

That was when we met the dwarf, and he was the one who led me to Anders. Another Fereldan refugee, and another apostate.

The third such fugitive to own my heart. The third mage that I’d die for; that I would—and did—kill for. _Murdered_ for. For him, and for the cause he represented. The cause that would simultaneously make my father proud and break his heart, were he alive to see me today.

This is the true danger of apostasy. Not mages becoming maleficarum, though that does happen for the same reasons as what I’ve done. No, the danger is fear; it’s desperation. It’s refusing to lose what we love. Father didn’t mean to, but he taught me this fear when I was a child. Fear of losing him, of losing Bethany; this fear translated quite naturally into fear of losing Anders.

I gave my heart freely to this renegade, this apostate.

And I regret nothing.


	2. B is for Bethany

Varric always calls her “Sunshine” and it always makes both of us smile. Bethany and I never told him, but somehow, I think he knows it was our father’s pet name for her. She was the light of our lives, the one thing we all agreed on—we had to protect her from the darkness of the world. Not just our family, but everyone who ever met her loved her, wanted to coddle her.

She always hated that.

Some protectors we were, though. We wanted to keep her from the darkness of the Circle, and I led her into the Deep Roads instead. Thank the Maker for Anders and his Grey Wardens, though I know it was a very long time before she came to understand the desperation that forced me to send her away.

I sent a letter to Amaranthine to let her know about Mother, but I never heard back. I didn’t see her again until the Qunari attack on the city, over three years after I forced her to leave us. She still hated me then, though she fought well. I’d never been so proud of her, in spite of the sting of the rejection in her eyes. She was gone again, to say the least, when I woke from my injuries after facing the Arishok.

She wrote more often after that, though, and gradually her tone warmed. She wasn’t quite our same old Sunshine, but I could still hear the small smiles in her voice when she wrote of her own companions—of Howe in particular. It was… less than surprising, to say the least, to find her with him in the Deep Roads a few years later, when his sister sent me after him.

It was in the Deep Roads that I lost our Sunshine, and it was in the Deep Roads years later when I found her again. She was his Sunshine now, though.

My little sister, all grown up.


	3. C is for Carver

**C is for Carver**

 

Sometimes I wonder if Carver didn’t get the better end of the deal, sacrificing himself to that ogre to protect Bethany and Mother. Then again, he was a twit— _our_ twit, but a twit nonetheless—and he could never have handled Kirkwall if I had taken his place that day.

I remember when the twins were still very young, even before Beth’s magic had made itself known, how he used to wander around behind her with a bewildered look on his face. You’d think he’d be the leader of their little duo, being the slightly elder of the two, but no; Bethany had him wrapped around her little finger and led him like a mabari pup where ever she pleased—and anytime there was trouble to be had as a result of one of her plots, he insisted on taking the blame.

Yet I’m the one he hated.

I don’t begrudge him a certain jealousy—I always _was_ fabulous, after all—but there was never any reason for him to hate me. Sure, I can be a sarcastic bitch at times, but he was my little brother—who else could I tease if not him? Then again, there was always a good dose of bossy in my attitudes with him, and while I was fabulous, I wasn’t Sunshine—and Beth is so much easier to forgive than I’ve ever been.

Then came our conscription to the King’s army during the Blight, and the month spent avoiding darkspawn as we escaped the Wilds again after the battle. It was the only time we ever really got along, and I wondered later why. We hardly spoke during that month, but none of our silences contained his usual awkward brooding. Maybe he was just saving it up for when we got home, so he’d have an audience?

I never found out why, of course—he gave his life against that ogre before I ever had a chance to ask.

At least he died protecting the one person he truly loved.


End file.
